Star Trek: The Kephans
by Slightly Askew
Summary: A cry for help sends the HHS Mount Carmel deep into Federation space, toward the planet Gideon, standing on the edge of global revolution. The first saga of the Kephan starship Mount Carmel and her crew, set in the time of Captain Kirk. NEW CHAPTERS ADDED
1. A Plea For Help

+AMDG+

The last thing he remembered before he fell into unconsciousness was the site of fire all around him.

As the tiny craft pierced through the blanket of air surrounding Organia, he saw lascivious tongues of fire lick the heat shield like it was a lollipop. He felt the flames rock and sway his warp shuttle, as he fought its controls to guide it to a safe landing spot. Mouth dry and palms wet, he heard his racing heart beat against his chest in terror.

Pannis opened and shut his eyes every 10 seconds, too afraid of both seeing and not seeing what lay ahead of him. The distance between him and the land below shrank with each moment, now a hundred miles, now eighty, now sixty. Now and again, he glanced at the computer map, guiding him to the planet's largest city as best as it could.

He now flew into the planet's night-side, where any natives would probably think he was an arriving meteor or comet. He was now forty miles above land and closing fast. Thick wisps of smoke now mixed with the tongues of fire, cutting his visibility to near zero. His sweat matted his dirty blond hair to his skull, the drops on his brow threatening to enter his eyes.

"This is the last time I buy an early model Klingon shuttle sight unseen," he promised himself, as he turned the unwieldy flying tin can to the right. He aimed it for what he hoped was a thickening jumble of rain clouds ahead of him. Ten miles now and closing.

Pannis turned on the computer autopilot, punched in the numbers to land the craft safely near the big Organian city. Then his mind shut down his body and his eyes, as it forced him into a slumber of survival.

* * *

When he awoke, the gentle pitter-patter of a summer shower was cooling the shuttle's hull. Everything was dark inside except for the lights of the guidance system. Outside, he could barely make out the site of a thick grove of pine trees. Surprised, he chuckled to himself. He remembered only seeing such fine looking trees from his children's picture books.

"I must still be asleep," he said to himself. "Or else I've lost my mind for good."

He took his time unbuckling himself from the pilot's chair, his limbs aching and tired. Easing himself out of the chair, he got down on his hands and knees. He crawled toward the exit hatch as if he were crawling through a minefield, his lungs nervously gasping for breath.

Seven minutes past before he finally reached the hatch, lifting himself up to hit the exit button.

He hit it again a minute later.

He hit it a third time a minute after that before it opened. The heady, sweet smell of pine needles on a cool wet wind christened his face. He closed his eyes and smiled, pausing for several deep breaths of perfumed ecstasy. He dragged his tired body down the automatic stair case that deployed whenever the exit hatch opened. The rain falling down on him was dew from heaven.

He crawled over the wet grass, thick and full and uncut like his mother's hair when he was a boy. Without willing it, he giggled with relief. He lay down on the grass, letting his fingers run through the verdant carpet around him.

A moment later, he heard a pair of footsteps walking closer to him. Shutting his eyes, he slowly rolled over onto his back. Half opening them again, he looked up at an old man, dressed in a hooded dark robe and sandals and carrying a lit torch. His face looked thin and frail with kindly eyes and a goatee. The old man leaned over him, looking him over by the torch light.

The young man blinked his eyes, partly to keep the rain from falling into them. "If... you... can... under... stand... me..."

"Don't be afraid," said the old man. "I can understand you very well." He gently smiled. "My name is Ayelbourne. Welcome to Organia. Are you hurt badly?"

"Yes..." he said, as he winced in pain. "I...am...Councilor...Pannis... from...the...planet...Gideon... and... I... need... your... help..."

"Of course, of course," he said again, as he stuck his torch into the ground. He knelt down, caught the young man's chin in his hands. He gently moved the head left and right, as he closed his eyes and knit his brow intensely. Then he covered the visitor's forehead with his right hand.

"By all that's holy, your almost dead," he gasped. "Or on your way to being so." He stood up, turned around to face the darkness before him. "Hippoc? I call you, Hippoc. Bring two or three others with you and be quick about it. A visitor has arrived and is badly hurt."

Within a moment, three others arrived, one on foot carrying a cloth bag. The other two followed behind him in a covered horse-drawn cart.

"I'll bet it's one of those corporeal beings," grumbled Hippoc, clothed in a great hooded robe, his face wide and fully bearded. "Just like those humans and Klingons all those years ago. They and their blasted physical bodies, their very presence causing us pain."

"Even so," said Ayelbourne. "He is a visitor and deserves our hospitality. He came all the way from planet Gideon in that." He pointed to the Klingon built warp shuttle, it's charred hull still steaming from the rain falling on it.

Hippoc looked at it and groaned. "That rustbucket? It's no better than those metal shells the humans and Klingons travel in. That's the problem when you're still stuck with physical bodies, unlike us who made of pure thought. Just like their starships, their bodies eventually break down and wear out. What a waste, I tell you."

"I can do without the history lesson, thank you very much," the elder Organian said with exasperation. "Just help me get this young man into the cart and into the city. As soon as he's healed, we'll ask him what his business is here and take it from there. Now you grab his feet and I'll grasp his shoulders."

The two Organians lifted the Gideonite up from the ground, lay him in the back of the cart. They both got in after him, covered him and themselves with blankets.

"Ayelbourne," said Hippoc. "Haven't you forgotten something?"

"The torch? Oh, yes, thank you." The old man spun his right hand around three times.

The flaming torch, stuck into the ground, now shot up into the sky like a rocket, heedless of the rain. Within fifteen seconds, there was a brilliant flash within the clouds. Both men looked up at the smaller flashes bursting in the wake of the bigger one, followed by thin brilliant streams of light shooting in all directions.

"Fireworks?" said Hippoc, shaking his head. "You showoff."

Ayelbourne just smiled as the cart sped away into the night.


	2. The Plea Answered

+AMDG+

13 May AD 2270

Admiral Krystyna Orzelski nursed both a cup of coffee and a headache as she read the official document in her hands.

"Ah, the joys of bureaucracy," she grumbled, glancing at her desktop screen, then the document again. "When in doubt, print everything in triplicate."

Both were copies of the original letter, long since deposited in the National Archives for posterity's sake. Transmitted from the Organian Council of Elders, it was a request for one of their best starships "to assist the Council in a matter of confidential diplomatic importance".

Translated into plain speech, they wanted one of their ships to fly to that mysterious world for some secret mission that only they knew. And the higher ups in Tri-Planetary Command (TPC) left that choice in her hands.

"Organia," she groaned. "Right behind enemy lines. And the Main Enemy at that."

Ever since news arrived on how these "beings of pure energy" stopped the war between the Federation and the Klingons, both the Unity Congress and it's Foreign Affairs Department demanded someone in the Star Navy go there and make contact. In turn, TPC wanted none but their best to fly there, someone who could be both soldier and diplomat depending on the situation.

"And he's all we've got." She took another sip. "Fits the bill in both matters. But my God, really..."

Another twinge in her temples made her wince. Anyone else in her state would have taken pain medication at once. Allergies to the five most prescribed ones kept her suffering.

"They asked for filet mignon and all we have is blasted hamburger. He's Grade AA and organic, yes, but he still hamburger."

She looked outside her office window and sighed. Long ago on Occupied Earth, they would have called her workspace the "corner office", the much envied room in some corporate headquarters. Any other time, she'd be impressed with the view enough to ignore all else around her, even if only for a few seconds. That view outside her space station window displayed the worlds of Cephas, Petrus and Kepha, the capital of the Kephan Unity. Anyone else would be hypnotized at these three earthlike planets orbiting each other, in perfect balance like three points in an equilateral triangle. And all three, in turn, twirling around their life-giving yellow sun in an endless dance.

But not her and not today.

Orzelski ran a hand through her flaming red hair, cut in a Cleopatra style haircut. Seven years as a Star Navy Admiral left its mark on her face with worry lines. Chief of the small but growing Expeditionary Fleet, she was responsible for all ships operating outside the borders. For the moment, it was a ragtag collection of castoffs, secondhand ships bought through dummy corporations to keep Federation and Klingon intelligence at bay. The Orion-built ships were more expensive but of better quality. The few that were homemade, so to speak, where the pride and joy of the Unity. And she was loathe to send them into deep space, unless it was absolutely necessary.

Shaking her head slightly, she gulped down the remainder of her coffee. She hit a button on her desk console. "Nakamichi?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Two things. One, get me two aspirin on the double. Two, give me the location of the HHS _Mount Carmel _and open a secure channel to it's captain."

"Ma'am, are you sure you want aspirin? We do have the strongest pain reliever available, non-narcotic as well."

She half-snorted a laugh. "That one? Ensign, have you forgotten when I last used it? You do remember, right?"

"Oh...yes...from last year...sorry, ma'am, I thought..."

"My skin turned bright orange overnight."

"Yes, ma'am, I do r-r-remember..."

"I nearly threw you out of the blasted airlock for looking at me funny."

"I'm sorry, m-m-ma'am, for b-b-bringing that up..."

"I couldn't leave my office for three whole days until it returned to normal. Hey, if I'm going to hibernate like a Terran bear, I'd rather do it in my own house. Okay? Just get the aspirin and the ship."

"R-r-right away, ma'am. Nakamichi, out."

She smiled as she rubbed her temples. "Ah...such a nice boy. Dumb...but nice."


	3. The Summons Given

The Kephan heavy cruiser floated above a small nebula, lit within by a group of twelve stars, suffusing all in gentle shades of pastel blue. It's dust and gas swirled around the stars like thick layers of cotton candy, cradling them within its stellar cocoon as if they were newborn.

_HHS Mount Carmel, _one of the first members of the _Griffin_ class, would have struck first-time observers with either amusement or confusion. Usually the latter, for only the ship's designers knew why they built it as it was. And they weren't about to reveal such classified secrets to anyone.

Combining the saucer section of the Federation's _Constitution_ class cruiser with the rear hull of the Klingon's _D7_ class cruiser, a _Griffin_ was a hybrid of the first order. Rumors were that Star Fleet Intelligence nicknamed the class "Miracle", because they thought it took a miracle for the ship to travel above one-quarter impulse power. Their Klingon counterparts called it the "Mutant" class, for as they put it, it "was unnatural to put an Earther head on a Klingon body".

The ship's captain, Anthony Joseph Wrenfield, was still fast asleep, lying in his bed on his belly, spreadeagled and mouth open. An ancient paperback copy of G.K. Chesterton's _What's Wrong With The World_ lay half opened next to him, heavily highlighted and underlined. The covers ruffled, pillows long flattened from overuse.

A loud buzz blared from his quarter's overhead speaker.

"Bridge to Captain Wrenfield," said the female voice after the bleep.

A semi-snore answered her.

"Captain Wrenfield?" it said again. "This is Ensign Mercer here. I have a Code One from TPC on the line, your ears only."

More snoring.

"Bridge to Captain Wrenfield, I have Admiral Orzelski on the line. Please respond."

A third snore answered, followed by something half-mumbled in Italian.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," came the voice over the speaker. "I'm getting no reply."

"He did reply," said another female voice further off. "Hit the translator button and give it a listen."

Another snore came, followed by his grumbling in Italian,_"Thrift is the really romantic thing; economy is more romantic than extravagance."_

"I knew it," said the second voice. "Late night with the books again. Ensign, tell the Admiral the captain's...well...indisposed at the moment. I'll take care of this. Bridge to Engineering?"

"Engineering here."

"This is Yenell. Chief, would you take the con for a few minutes? I gotta go wake the captain up."

"Again?"

"I'm afraid so. He's sleep-mumbling."

"All right, but if he starts yelling at you about _'observing the proprieties'_ and all that..."

"He's just quoting something from Confucius, that's all. I'm used to it. Thanks, Chief."

"Security to Bridge?"

"Bridge here, this is Yenell."

"This is Security Chief Benjamin. Ma'am, I'll meet you down there with one of my men to assist you."

"What? How'd you get on this channel?"

"Couldn't help it, ma'am. You're broadcasting over the entire ship right now."

Silence.

"Oops," said Mercer.

"Alright, alright, I'll meet you there. Yenell, out. Mercer, shut this thing off, would you?"


	4. An Unusual Reveille

Yenell, daughter of Liviana, wasn't the stereotypical Orion. Unlike the rest of her kind, unrestrained and passionate and devious when need be, she was raised to be moderate in speech and action. Her natural creativity in the arts and sciences, combined with an iron discipline learned from her mother, flourished forth in her studies on her homeworld. So much so, she was raised to the formal Caste of Artists, one of the highest rankings in Orion civilian society.

And as such, she had the privilege of wearing the pair of white embroidered satin gloves marking membership in the Caste. The down side, though, was she had to wear them always in public. Those were the rules. She could deal with that, since in time it kept her hands as smooth as a baby's.

The tall thin green-skinned brunette walked down the hall, hands behind her back. Humans had trouble doing this, but it wasn't a problem for her. Usually taking her time going through the ship's corridors, this day she quickened her pace. By reputation, Admiral Orzelski was a tigress when her temper flared up. Even light years away, her voice and visage made many an underling tremble before her. It wouldn't do to subject her captain to such a fate.

"Never keep an admiral waiting," she said to herself. "Especially that one."

She arrived at the captain's quarters, two men in crisp uniforms waiting for her. Both equal in height, the older of the pair held a small device in one hand. The younger one rubbed his hands in anticipation, softly clearing his throat.

"Good morning, gentlemen," she said saluting, hand over heart. The two others did likewise. "I take it you're ready to barge in and wake up the captain."

"Oh, better, ma'am", said Chief Benjamin. "Better than that." He held up the small contraption, a cylinder topped with a long horn.

Yenell raised an angular eyebrow. "And this is supposed to be...what?"

"An airhorn," he said smiling. "This is a working reproduction of an early Twenty-First Century model made back on Occupied Earth."

"Was that just made by a replicator?" she asked.

"As soon as I overheard – shall we say – Mercer's mistake."

"Uh-huh, and it's supposed to do what?"

"Used for celebrations back then and most often at public sporting events. It's meant to show support for one's team. But in close quarters like this, it can catch the enemy by surprise. Catch them off guard with this loud noisemaker, and you buy precious seconds to counter a raid or overwhelm an opponent."

He smiled again, pleased with himself. Yenell nodded, wondering why Benjamin was always so cheerful.

"So how is that airhorn going to help us out?"

"Simple, ma'am. Open the door, blare the horn, wake the captain."

Yenell raised both eyebrows now. "That tiny thing makes a loud noise? Are you serious?"

"Remember the old Earth proverb about big things in small packages?" He flipped it into the air, let it spin madly before catching it. "This is proof that's true."

She folded her arms. "You do realize that you have non-combatants in the area right now. I'd appreciate not going deaf before my time, if ever."

"Not a problem, ma'am, got it covered. Mister Tobias, if you would."

"Yes, sir," said the younger man, producing a small box from his utility belt. He opened it to reveal three pairs of foam earplugs.

"What are those?"

"You stick them in your ears, ma'am," said Tobias. "They're disposable as well."

"We don't just 'dispose' anything on this ship, ensign," she said. "Nothing gets wasted. Chief, when this is over, turn these things back into something more useful."

Benjamin nodded. "Understood, ma'am. If you would."

"These things cut down the noise, right?"

"Yes and then some. They're made with our version of sound canceling foam rubber. The only thing you'll hear is the blood rushing through your veins."

Yenell took a pair from the box, pushed aside her hair. Tobias' eyes widened, as a pair of angular ears emerged from her head, green as her skin. His mouth opened, as the Security Chief took his pair.

She smirked, noticing his surprise. "Half Romulan, half Orion. I get that look all the time, ensign. And please...close your mouth."

"Um...ah...sorry, ma'am," he said flustered. He grasped his plugs, fumbled with one as he tried inserting it.

"He just joined us three weeks ago," Benjamin said. "He'll get the hang of things soon enough." He lifted his head toward the ceiling. "Computer tie-in."

"Working," replied a synthetic male voice.

"Security Chief Benedict Benjamin request opening door of captain's quarters within fifteen seconds of mark. Access code one-three-seven-one-five-alpha-alpha. Copy."

"Stand by," the voice replied. "Code accepted. Ready to open door on mark."

"Plugs in everyone." The three of them inserted the plugs into their ears, stood back from the door. "Computer, on my mark...now."

The mechanical voice counted out the seconds, as Benjamin positioned himself before the door. He held the airhorn cylinder in one hand, the other hovering over it's button. Yenell glanced at his face, looking like he was ready to break up a bar fight all by himself. _Maybe he does that for fun, _she mused. _This guy's always smiling at everything._

The door slid open. He hit the button.

The horn's shattering blare wrenched Wrenfield from his sound slumber, sending him screaming into consciousness. And then into the nightstand beside his bed, followed by a collision with the floor. The lamp upon it, the books next to it and the sheets below him followed him down.

Benjamin threw the airhorn into the room, pulled the plugs out of his ears. Tapping Tobias on the arm and nodding, he strode into the room as if on a Sunday walk in the park. The ensign pulled out his plugs, gestured to Yenell to do likewise, which she did.

"Ma'am," said Tobias. "I'd suggest you'd call Sick Bay just in case. If you'll excuse me."

"Sure, sure," she said, her voice trailing off as he joined his superior in the captain's quarters. She turned her head to spy the security men dig their commander out of the chaotic mess. Shaking her head, she walked across the hall to one of the intercom speakers and hit a button. "Yenell to Sick Bay."

"Sick Bay, go ahead."

"Doctor Laurentian, we're bringing the captain in for some possible minor injuries. He just got up now. Please get everything ready for..."

"Were his first words in Italian or Latin?"

"What?"

"This has happened before, lieutenant. Is he speaking right now in either Italian or Latin?"

"Uh...stand by on that." She heard Wrenfield blurt out incoherent shouts and growls from his room, followed by his crying _"Miserere mei, Domine!"_

"Computer," she shouted. "What was the captain saying?"

"It was the Latin phrase for _'Lord, have mercy on me'_."

"Doctor, he was speaking in Latin."

"Get him in here on the double. That's a medical order. We'll have everything set up when he arrives. Sick Bay, out."

"Didn't know it was that bad," she said to herself. She rushed to the captain's room to see Benjamin and Tobias drag Wrenfield out by his arms. He was in his underwear and socks, a bruise on his forehead, eyes wide open and speech a garbled mix of Latin and Italian.

"The doctor's waiting for us."

"If you'll follow us, ma'am," said Benjamin, grinning as if he won at high-stakes poker. "Maintenance will fix everything behind us and recycle both horn and earplugs."

They dragged the disheveled captain down the hall, Yenell behind them swearing to herself she'd never, ever understand humans.


End file.
